


Coming Home

by justanothersong



Series: Chili Pepper 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Literature is Hot, M/M, Miscarriage, Professor Castiel, Professor Dean Winchester, Supernatural AU: Not Hunters, Teacher Castiel, Teacher Dean Winchester, brief mentions of: - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Dean discovered internet chili peppers, he brought Castiel home for dinner.</p><p>Pre-quel to Chili Peppers, can be read as a standalone.<br/>(But it's more fun if you read CP first!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was very little that remained sacrosanct in the Winchester household. First and foremost, muddy boots were to be left by the door; Mary was not about to be hand-scrubbing floors during her retirement years. Second, Abbey – an extremely overweight beagle mix – lived here and was allowed to go anywhere she wanted; this one was mainly for Dean, who often complained about the animal getting hair or slime (she was a little jowly in her old age) all over the place, but would just as often be found later that same evening with the portly pooch sprawled over his lap, enjoying a nice belly rub. Third, and most important of all, was that Sunday dinner was mandatory for all members of the family, no matter what fancy college they worked for or what high profile case was keeping them in the court room for long hours. Mary figured she had put up with quite enough in raising those boys, they could damn well come home to see their mother at least once a week.

This Sunday was different, however. Special. Not, of course, that seeing her boys wasn’t special; some weeks, Mary found herself wishing the clock could turn back a decade or two and bring her babies home for good, making each weekly meal seem a gift. But this time, it was different. This time, for the first time ever, Dean was bringing a guest to Sunday dinner.

Sam had brought girls home before, but only the ones he was very serious about. There had been Amy, in high school, sweet but a little flighty. And then that nice girl Jessica when he was still in law school; Mary had been all but certain that one would last, thinking the pretty blonde would have been the one for her younger son, but she knew things could change on a dime that young, and the two had parted ways not long after Sam had taken his place at a prestigious firm in the city.

But Dean… Dean had always been so private about that part of this life. Of course, Mary knew there had been others. She even knew the names, from hearing them pass from her older son’s lips in offhand comments here and there. There had been a Lydia, and a Cassie, later an Andrea and a Lisa, and Mary had even seen snapshots of the girls on some occasions, all very pretty but very different, as though her son was searching for something he just couldn’t find among the pretty faces that turned his head. None of them lasted. None of them came home for dinner. Not until now.

 

The chicken was already done, barbequed on the grill with the homemade molasses sauce that Mary knew Dean had always loved, staying warm in the broiler while they waited for his arrival. The corn on the cob was just about ready to boil, coleslaw had been mixed that morning and sat waiting in the fridge alongside a fruit salad, there was a pan of baked beans in the oven, and all that was left was to make a green salad.

She could hear the sounds of a baseball game filtering in from the living room where her husband and youngest son sat in silence, neither speaking as the game’s announcer droned on. Usually the two would be arguing the merits of this or that pitcher, the rules of the game, and the like, and she found it strange they would be so quiet until she heard the two men snore in tandem, making her heave a soft chuckle to herself.

“Sam!” she called, running cool water from the tap over a head of iceberg lettuce. “Sam, I forgot to pick up tomatoes, I need you to run to the store for me.”

She heard a groan and a shuffle coming from the other room. “What, mom?” Sam’s sleep-heavy voice called back.

Mary set her lettuce down on the cutting board and walked to the open archway that led towards the living room. Sam was sprawled out on the couch, his long legs stretched across the cushions and his face half-buried beneath his arms. John sat in the recliner beside him, head drooped forward and rounded belly rising in rhythm with each loud snore. Mary couldn’t help but smile at the scene.

“I need you to run to the store for me,” she told her son. “I forgot to pick up tomatoes today, I need them for the salad.”

Sam blinked a few times in the afternoon sunlight, and frowned. “What?” he repeated. “Why? I think we have more than enough food, Mom, do we really need a salad?”

Mary raised her eyebrows, hands on her hips. “You telling me you’re going to be eating all of that greasy barbeque chicken, those heavy baked beans…?” she trailed off.

Sam sat up and sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll go for tomatoes,” he agreed, stretching his limbs as he stood and yawning. “Anything else you need while I’m out?”

“Maybe some vanilla ice cream for the pie,” Mary responded after a long moment. She pulled the keys to his father’s truck from the rack in the kitchen, and handed them off to Sam as he walked by. “Anything else you’d like in the salad. You know me, I’m a simple woman when it comes to that. Lettuce, tomato, cucumber. Get anything else you’d like.”

She tried to slip a ten dollar bill into his palm, but Sam quickly snatched his hand away.  
“C’mon, Mom,” he said with a frown, shaking his head. 

Mary reached up with both hands, pulling her son’s cheek down low enough for her to drop a kiss on it, swatting at his backside when he walked away.

“You hurry up, now. Dean’ll be here with Cas soon, and I know you want to meet her as much as your father and I do,” she called.

Pausing at the back door, Sam gave a lighthearted snort. “Yeah, Dad’s real excited,” he called back dryly, his words punctuated by an extended snore echoing in from the living room.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Winchester never cared all that much about what other people thought of his sexuality. He’d made no attempts to hide the fact that he had no problem browsing either side of the aisle; the fact that no one in his family seemed to have picked up on it was a little odd, but then, there had always been an intensely private side of Dean, something that had begun when he was only a little boy.

They never knew how he loved his books, or that the great authors he studied in school were on par with the rock gods he blasted on his stereo, to his mind.

They never knew how he’d been victim of a nervous bladder his first day in middle school, and sat in a muddy rain puddle to hide it on the playground.

They never knew how he pulled over and cried when driving home one late night, just after getting his license, when a rabbit darted out into the road too quickly for him to avoid.

They never knew that Cassie Robinson had gotten pregnant their senior year in high school, only to miscarry before they could decide what to do; they never knew the strange mixture of emphatic relief and gutting disappointment he felt when he thought of what never was, or the betrayal that came with Cassie’s confession that it probably hadn’t been his, that she had been seeing a boy from the other side of town.

They didn’t know that he watched _Phineas and Ferb_ early Saturday mornings while Cas dozed in his lap on their couch – didn’t know that he and Cas had already moved in together, that Dean’s new house was really _their_ new house, or that they kept up the rent on Cas’ apartment in secret, so their colleagues didn’t know.

They didn’t know that Dean had felt like he was sinking, falling into a bottomless ocean, the first time his eyes met Cas’ blue gaze from across a university cafeteria, or that Cas could make him blush by sending that same glance in his direction, even now.

There was a lot they didn’t know, and Dean was okay with that. They didn’t need to. Some things were his and his alone, and that was fine. But Cas was different now, not a secret to be coveted and kept away from his loved ones. Cas was family; it was time he met the rest of them.

 

Dean’s hands were drumming in time to the radio against the steering wheel as he drove, glancing at over at Cas in the passenger seat every once in a while, as though making sure the seat hadn’t emptied of its own accord as they drove along. 

Cas arched an eyebrow as Dean looked his way yet again.  
“Everything okay?” he asked. “We don’t have to do this today, you know. Not if you don’t want?”

Dean’s plush lips pulled into a smile and he gave the man at his side a questioning glance as he shook his head.  
“‘Course we do,” he replied with a chuckle. “Ma’s probably made enough food to feed a football team, she’ll kill me if we cancel now.”

Cas gave him a sympathetic smile.  
“We don’t have to go… I don’t have to go, if you’re not ready, Dean,” he said quietly. If anyone knew how difficult meeting the family could be, it was Cas; the last prospective partner he had dated had a brother who had gotten in a cheap shot before Cas was able to round on him and break his nose. That had been the end of that particular relationship, but it was all for the best; a year and a half later, he had met Dean, and known not long after that there would be no one else.

But Dean didn’t talk about his family much, not to any real degree. Sure, there were mentions of his parents, his brother, basic conversation that came about haphazardly, nothing at all heavy or concrete. Cas didn’t feel that their relationship was being hidden so much as it never occurred Dean to bring the two sides of his life together. 

There was work to consider as well. Both were buried up to their ears in the trials and tribulations of academia, working on journal articles and books to publish alongside of their regular teaching schedules, and Cas was being considered to take over the department chair position, now that Dr. Turner had retired. They barely had much free time at all, and what they had, they always chose to spend together. Still, it was hard for Cas to believe, in the year they’d been together, that it just had never come up.

Dean reached over and pulled the other man’s hand from where it had sat folded in his lap, threading their fingers together to rest alongside the gearshift as he drove.

“They’re gonna love ya, Cas,” Dean told him firmly, eyes back on the road.

“Why don’t you tell me about them, then?” Cas asked. Dean’s mentions of home and family had been, after all, rather incidental. He knew little about them all, aside from their existence.

Turning the radio down a few notches before quickly claiming Cas’ hand with his own once again, Dean nodded, pushing out his lower lip as he thought about the request and deemed it a reasonable one.

“The old man was a Marine,” he began, circling the pad of his thumb against Cas’ wrist as he spoke. “Back to being a civilian by the time I came around, though. Works on cars, does some large appliance repair. Kinda took off for a while when I was a kid… Ma booted’im out til he stopped drinking for good.”

Dean sighed then, as though remembering that time of his life, those years where his father’s visits were few and far between. He’d never doubted his mother’s decision to make his father go, never questioned why she’d had to do it. Though perhaps, sometimes, just sometimes when he was allowing himself to think on it, dwell on it… sometimes he would wonder why it took so long for John Winchester to finally choose his sons over the bottle.

When Dean felt Cas’ thumb reciprocate the soothing circles against his wrist, it brought him back to himself and out of the tired old memories he so often tried to ignore. He flashed the blue-eyed man a reassuring smile, as if to say, hey, don’t worry baby, I’m fine, and began speaking again.

“Ma was a cop, but she’s retired now. Whole family was cops, actually. Grandpa Campbell and his old man before him, most of my cousins on that side too… guess they flipped their shit when my mom signed up at the academy too but no one was gonna stand in her way in the long run… She retired when Sammy was starting high school, did the crossing guard thing for a few years after that.”

Cas smiled and just listened, enjoying the way Dean’s expressions would drift from humor to pride to love, all as he spoke on the family he so rarely brought up. Cas had never pushed, knowing where Dean went each Sunday evening and never asking about it, never pestering as to when he might meet them, knowing Dean did things in his own way, his own time. This was something, he knew, something momentous between them, going to meet the Winchester clan. For a man who stumbled on his words when trying to tell Cas how he felt, Dean was well-versed in making the things he couldn’t say all the more clear by his actions.

“And then there’s Sammy, you know all about him, heard me bitchin’ about him enough. Pain in the ass kid brother, moose of a guy now, even taller than me. Just out of law school and gets picked up by some big name firm. Hardly see the kid now.”

“You two were close when you were young,” Cas prompted, knowing there was more to it than Dean was saying. As accomplished as Dean was in his academic career, the way he spoke of his brother made them seem miles apart, the younger man supposedly far more successful and worth his weight in gold when compared to his brother. Cas knew better, knew Dean for the brilliant man he was; meeting the almighty Sam in person, though, would definitely be interesting.

“Yeah, you know, with Dad gone a while, someone had to take care of the kid,” Dean explained with a short chuckle.

They were halfway down a quiet residential street now, a good three-quarters of an hour away from their own home nearer to the university, and Dean pulled into the driveway of two-story house painted in a soft yellow shade with a wide wooden porch stretching around the front of it. The lawn was well-manicured and the porch had a red wooden swing chained to the awning, drifting just gently in the late afternoon breeze. 

“Well, this is it,” Dean announcing, giving Cas a grin as he turned the key in the ignition, shutting off the Impala. “You ready?”


	3. Chapter 3

They walked up a path of carefully laid bricks leading into the backyard and towards a large wooden deck attached to the house. The kitchen door hung open with the screen securely shut, allowing a welcome evening breeze to flow into the house without inviting in any pests. Mounting the short stairs leading up the deck, they could both feel the heat still rolling off the old gas grill set alongside the deck railing.

“Ma still wants us always using the back door,” Dean explained with a chuckle. “Like we’re ten years old, going to be tracking in mud or something.”

Castiel smiled weakly, but didn’t reply.

 

For the first time in years, Castiel found himself frighteningly nervous and damn near terrified. He hadn’t been this nervous when he defended his thesis (flawless), or even when he came out to his family (disastrous). He hadn’t felt this trembling in the pit of his stomach the first time he kissed a girl (not bad), or the first time he kissed a boy (pretty good), or even the first time he kissed Dean (bliss). This was something different, an entirely new sort of mental torture he was inflicting upon himself, but he couldn’t help it.

Dean was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Being brought home to meet mom and dad was his somewhat stoic lover’s way of telling Castiel that this thing they had was for keeps, in a way that even buying a home together couldn’t say.

It seemed only right that he be quaking in his theoretical boots.

 

Dean eased open the screen door without knocking, waltzing in casually as though he still lived there or was home more than a couple times a week. Castiel followed behind him quietly, catching sight of a blonde woman of slight stature that he recognized from a few photos that Dean kept around the house, mixing a pitcher of lemonade at the counter. Her hair was long, hanging in loose waves down her back, falling against a pale blue sleeveless blouse that set nicely next to skin washed bronze by the summer sun. When she turned towards the sound of the opening door, Castiel saw vestiges of Dean’s own face in her full lips and slender brow.

“There you are, baby!” she called, immediately throwing her arms around her son.

Dean chuckled. “Jeez, you act like you never see me,” he told her, though he squeezed the diminutive woman back just as hard as she had clutched at him.

“Never enough, Pie,” she responded with a sigh. She took his face in both hands, pulling him down to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

Castiel couldn’t help himself; he arched an eyebrow at her words and looked to Dean, asking, “Pie?”

For his part, Dean flushed. “Just a stupid nickname, from when I was a kid…” he mumbled.

“Oh!” Mary said, finally catching sight of the dark haired man still lingering at the door and regarding him with some surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dean didn’t tell me he was bringing a friend for dinner.”

“What are you talking about, ‘course I did, Ma,” Dean responded, and Mary briefly smiled at his words. It was never ‘Mom’ or ‘Mother’ with Dean, ever since he was eight years old and decided he was too big to call her ‘Momma’ anymore; he still clung to that, she thought, shortening it to just ‘Ma’, though they both seemed to hear the unspoken first syllable of the name he had called her since he could talk: never was she ‘Mommy’ to Dean, but always ‘Momma’.

“Ma,” Dean began, in a tone much softer and gentler than any she had heard from him in a number of years, “This is Cas.”

“Oh… but you said… I thought…” Mary responded after a beat, frowning just slightly. She glanced to Dean and then back to Castiel, noting the way that even Dean seemed tense, thumbs hooked in the back pockets of his jeans, eyes perhaps just a little too wide, brows arched just a little higher than normal.

 

For a brief wild moment, Castiel felt full blown terror. He braced himself for the fallout, cruel and angry words shouted between family that had once loved each other completely. He could almost hear them echoing in his mind, cries of ‘not in my house’ and ‘against nature’ that nearly made him visibly shudder. He felt pure panic begin to settle, bile rising in his throat, ready to bolt before he became sick right there in the kitchen. But then Mary’s face softened in understanding and she gave him a welcoming smile, reaching out to him in much the same manner she had her son only moments ago.

“So _you’re_ Cas,” she said, taking his face gently in her hands, just as she had Dean's moments before, and pulling him down to press a warm kiss to his cheek. “Dean’s been so anxious for us to have you over, sweetheart. I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

 

She linked one arm through Castiel’s and held a hand out to Dean, leading them both towards the kitchen table. “Come, sit down. Sam is out at the store and, Dean, your father is dead to the world out there in the living room. We have some time to get to know each other, Cas. I want to hear all about you.”

They settled at the table, a light oak affair with a bowl of fruit in the center and yellow placemats set before each chair, looking as though it had been plucked right from a magazine showing images of the perfect life in the countryside. Even the chairs had matching cushions tied to each seat, with the shape of a heart carved into the backing of each one.

A fat beagle waddled in from the living room, sniffing at Castiel’s ankle a moment before shuffling to plop across Dean’s feet; the other man absently reached down to scratch the dog behind the ears, while Mary reached across the table with a smile and gave Castiel’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“So, Cas,” she began. “Welcome to the family.”

When Cas felt tears prick his eyes, he couldn’t be certain if it was relief or something more tender he felt plucking at his heartstrings.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, it started years ago, when Dean was just about three years old,” Mary began her explanation. 

Beside her, Dean groaned. “Ma, really?” he said, shaking his head incredulously. Mary just smiled at him, reaching out to tug gently at the too-long tendrils of dark blonde hair at the back of his neck; he was long overdue for a cut, but hadn’t found time to get it done. His annoyance melted away at the gesture, turning into a fond half-smile when his mother paused to rub a hand against the back of his neck, just the way she used to when he was young and sick, unable to sleep, and cuddled in her lap.

“Dean came down with the chicken pox,” Mary explained, turning her attention back to the man across the table while she folded her hands on the tabletop. “My own mother always told me the younger kids got them, the better, so I didn’t think much of it beyond some Calamine and aspirin from the doctor.”

Castiel nodded. “It’s generally considered a harmless, if uncomfortable, condition,” he agreed. He had contracted chicken pox at five, along with all of his siblings; it had been a very itchy few weeks in the James household.

“For a few days, Dean seemed to be improving, but then… well, I was young, you know, Dean was my first baby, so everyone thought I was overreacting,” Mary went on. It was clear from the faded worry in her eyes that it could still touch her, the terror of seeing her baby so sick. “Dean started throwing up, his fever spiked, and I could barely keep him awake. When his breathing started getting bad, I knew it was something worse than the chicken pox, and John drove us to the hospital.”

“Reye’s Syndrome,” Dean filled in, as though the somewhat obscure condition should have been easily recognizable to Castiel. “S’why I don’t take aspirin now. Guess it was pretty touch-and-go for a while, huh Ma?”

Mary frowned, still reliving the trauma. “We almost lost you, baby,” she responded with a deep sigh, reaching out on the tabletop to pat Dean’s hand, as though reassuring herself that he was truly there, alive and well. Turning back to Cas, she went on. “Dean was in a coma for nearly three days before they were able to bring him out. He was just miserable, with the fever and the rashes and the vomiting… had to be on a liquid diet to even keep anything down, and when they finally let him have solid food, Dean just refused to eat.”

“You’re kidding,” Cas replied dryly, earning a snort from Dean and a delighted tinkle of laughter from Mary. Lord but her boys could eat; Cas, she knew, must be quite close to Dean to be able to tease him about his appetite. 

“We tried everything,” Mary explained. “Ice cream, popsicles, cookies, popcorn, potato chips, all sorts of candy… just anything we could think of, to get him to take something other than juice and water. He just wouldn’t budge.”

“Stubborn even then?” Castiel queried, getting another chuckle from Mary. Dean rolled his eyes but it was clear it was all for show, a fond smile still playing about his features.

“I was at my wit’s end when one night, Dean’s father brought me up a tray of food from the hospital cafeteria. I suppose I hadn’t been eating all that well myself, and John was determined to get me eating as well,” Mary went on. “Just a hamburger, nothing special, but there was a slice of apple pie on the tray with a spoon of whipped cream on the top, and Dean’s eyes just lit up.”

Cas gave a soft laugh of his own; he’d seen the same reaction enough times to easily be able to imagine a very young Dean spotting his favorite dessert, even if from a hospital bed.

“It was the first solid food we could get him to take,” Mary went on, leaning her chin on her hand, elbow braced on the tabletop as she gazed at her now grown son, still seeing that sickly toddler, just recovering, dwarfed in a full size hospital bed. “And for a while, it was all he’d eat. Apple pie. Cherry pie. Chocolate. Coconut. Anything, so long as it was pie. I told him if he kept it up, he’d turn into a pie, and oh, he’d just laughed and laughed…”

Mary heaved a sigh. It was hard sometimes, to look at her eldest son and see a grown man staring back at her. She could still see the freckled little boy there, the child determined to stand and walk no matter how many times he fell, the sweet little baby who had barely cried when the doctor placed him in her arms, gazing up at her with curious eyes that had been bright green even then.

She reached out and placed a gentle hand on Dean’s cheek, smiling at him again before turning back to their guest.

“After that, I suppose it just stuck,” she said. “He’s always been my Pie, since then.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile, in spite of the few pangs of jealousy that cropped up. Cas himself had never really had a nickname as a child; he had always been Castiel, nothing else short or sweet, though his brothers had occasionally tried for ‘Cassie’, earning only glares from their youngest brother for their trouble. No one had even called him ‘Cas’ with any regularity, until Dean; there had always been too much formality about his life, nothing comfortable, until Dean had become part of it.

“That’s very sweet,” he told Mary, chuckling softly at the thought of it. Of course Dean would be called ‘Pie’ by his mother; what else, really?

“What about you, Cas? Any nicknames? Is ‘Cas’ short for something, or…?” Mary questioned, determined to get to know this handsome man her son had brought home. Clearly, he had not been quite what she had expected, but aesthetically, at the least, Mary could see the draw. Cas was nearly as tall as Dean, well fit, with tousled dark hair and bright clear blue eyes. There was a quietness about him that seemed to balance Dean’s more boisterous personality, and his deep rumbling voice carried with it a commanding presence.

Castiel nodded. “My given name is Castiel,” he explained. “My parents were theologians; they named all of their sons for angels, and, being the youngest, I suppose most of the best ones were already taken.”

Mary smiled. “Oh, I think it’s a lovely name,” she replied. “What do your parents do now? Are they retired? Are you from this area?” She paused with the slew of further questions she wanted to ask; she had to force herself to remember, at times, that every conversation was not an interrogation. Once a cop, always a cop, it seemed.

“My mother passed when I was quite young,” Castiel explained. “I was the last of five sons and two daughters, something of a surprise to my parents as well. My mother suffered a stroke when I was four; she was thirty-seven."

Mary was aghast. “Oh you poor thing!” she breathed, hands reaching out to take Cas’ into her own across the table. The man blushed just slightly, as if unsure of such a tender gesture, but seemed reassured by a soft nod from Dean.

“My father was on the lecture circuit for several years after, so my brothers and I lived with my Aunt Naomi and her children, outside of Provo, in Utah,” Castiel went on. “My father passed when I was fourteen, and we just stayed with Aunt Naomi after that.”

“I’m glad you at least had family to take care of you,” Mary responded.

Dean shook his head. “She’s a crazy bitch, Ma,” he responded, tone gone bitter.

“Dean!” she hissed.

“Oh, it’s alright, Mrs. Winchester,” Castiel replied.

“Mary,” she corrected. “Or Ma, if you’re comfortable.”

Castiel flushed again, and Dean grinned at his mother’s words. Not knowing quite what else to say, Castiel continued. “Dean is right, though,” he relented. “Aunt Naomi is quite… fervently religious. I suppose it didn’t help, my parents’ course of study and choices for naming their children. It only seemed to further her fanaticism. We don’t… speak anymore. Honestly, the only member of my family I speak to with any regularity is my brother Gabriel.”

Mary was aghast, opening her mouth to speak just as the back door swung open with a bang.

 

“Okay I got your ice cream and your tomatoes,” Sam announced, carrying several paper grocery bags towards the counter. “Picked up some radishes, some green pepper, and shredded carrots to throw in too.”

Turning back towards the table, he was soon engulfed in his brother’s usual bear hug greeting, along with a cheerful call of “Sammy!”

Sam staggered just a moment before regaining his footing. “It’s Sam now, Dean,” he corrected. “I’m not five years old anymo… uh, hey,” he added, spotting the stranger at the kitchen table.

“Sam, come meet Cas,” Mary called. “We’ve been waiting for you to come back.”

“Oh, yeah, hey,” Sam responded, stepping forward after being released from his brother’s hug, and extending a hand for the other man to shake. “So you’re Cas? Dean’s been…” he trailed off, realization slamming into him quite suddenly. “Wait, what? _You’re_ Cas?”


	5. Chapter 5

When John Winchester woke, it was something like a grumpy old grizzly bear rising from hibernation. Castiel held back a knowing smirk, suddenly seeing where Dean’s inability to shake off his early morning sleepiness came from. The older Winchester shuffled his slippered feet into the kitchen, rubbing at his bleary eyes and moving towards the table.

“Come sit down, John,” Mary called cheerfully. “We were just getting to know Cas.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Sam suddenly spoke up from where he had been frozen by the door. “This is Cas. Come meet _him_ ,” he went on, accentuating the last word of his sentence.

It was madness. Either that, or a really bad practical joke. Dean had casually mentioned bringing the mysterious Cas around for dinner one Sunday, not long after the closing on his new house, and Sam had watched his mother flutter around in a tizzy ever since. Dean had never brought anyone home before, so he understood it must be a big deal to her. But this? This was not quite what Sam had been expecting.

It had to be a joke.

At least, Sam knew, his Dad would be able to see through it.

 

Castiel stood as John Winchester approached, mindful of the sudden nervous terror that had sparked in Dean’s eyes when the man entered the room, and offered his hand in greeting. John stared at him a long moment before accepting the proffered handshake.

“So you’re Cas?” he asked in a gruff tone all too similar to Dean’s early morning voice.

“Yes,” Cas replied quietly. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”

Letting go of his hand, John cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, lips pulling into a frown. “Let me ask you somethin’,” he said.

“Uh… sure,” Cas replied, casting a sidelong glance at Dean, who was wincing.

John paused a beat before continuing. “Cubs or Sox?” he asked.

Cas heard rather than saw Dean’s long exhale of relief. They were in the Midwest, after all, and not too far from Chicago. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon question.

“Cubs,” Cas responded automatically.  
John broke into a smile and clapped the younger man on the back with his large hand. “Good man,” he said, voicing approval before heading towards the refrigerator to grab a bottle of the black cherry soda that Mary always bought for him. Giving up drinking had been a rough road for John Winchester, and there were a few false starts before he made it, but ever since he stopped, the residual sugar cravings hit him on a regular basis. His wife always made certain there were Jolly Ranchers in the kitchen drawer and his favorite super-sweet soda in the fridge – just one of the many things that made the man certain that she was too good for him.

Castiel, of course, didn’t know any of this, didn’t know how similar John’s mind worked to his eldest son’s, but he saw other similarities between the two: the way they walked, the way they carried their weight, even the familiar roll of the shoulders. There were shades of Dean painted across both of his parents faces, each pulling an expression at times that reminded Castiel very much of their son, and if his father was anything to use for comparison, Castiel was certain that Dean would age gracefully. 

The kindness and nonchalance to the elder Winchester’s greeting did much to put Castiel’s mind at ease, even if it seemed to affect Dean’s brother in an entirely different manner; Sam gaped. He hadn’t known exactly what he had expected – John Winchester had never said two words on same sex relationships in his life, but his military background and ultra-masculine image had always led Sam to believe that it ever came up, his father wouldn’t have the most open-minded of views – but he sure as hell hadn’t expected that.

 

It was as if the world had gone crazy.

“Sam, sweetheart, why don’t you get the salad ready?” Mary cut into her younger son’s thoughts. “Everything else is already finished, and Cas and Dean can help me set the table so we can eat.”

 

Dinner was as tense as Castiel had feared it might be, though he was surprised to feel the tension rolling off Sam more than anyone. Dean had always spoken of his younger brother in tones of adoration, heaping praise on the younger man for everything from his intelligence to his kindness to his ability with a crossword puzzle. Everything Dean had said about Sam had led Castiel to believe that, even if Dean’s parents couldn’t accept their relationship, Sam would be their saving grace.

And yet he kept frowning at Castiel across the table like he couldn’t quite believe the other man was sitting there. Different expressions kept passing over the younger man’s face throughout what was otherwise a pleasant dinner. 

Sam peered at Castiel, seemingly confused, while Mary asked how Dean and Cas had met. He glared, mouth scrunched into a grim line, while John inquired after the health of Dean’s baby, the Chevy Impala he had been gifted with for his high school graduation. He finally threw his napkin down on the table in exasperation when Dean reached across the tabletop to give Castiel’s hand a squeeze, when relating the older man’s academic prospects at the university.

“Sam?” Mary questioned, frowning. She had been enjoying the meal, chatting amiably with her oldest son’s friend – friend, though she knew it was more than that, because thinking ‘boyfriend’ seemed so childish and ‘partner’ too easily harkened back to her days on the force – and hadn’t noticed Sam’s seeming aggravation.

“Okay, I give,” Sam announced, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “What is this, Dean? Some kind of prank?”

“Excuse me?” Dean responded icily, turning a darkened glare towards his younger brother.

“What’s the deal here, Dean? Is this a joke? Cos, look, man, it’s not funny anymore,” Sam replied, leaning back in his chair.

“Sam!” John snapped harshly, realizing the road his son was heading down.

“No, dad, let’im talk,” Dean responded, quickly getting to his feet. He quickly rounded the table, clamping one strong hand down on his younger brother’s shoulder. “If fact, I think me and Sammy here need to have a quick talk on our own, yeah Sam?”

Dean gave his brother no time to respond, practically dragging him from his chair, through the living room and down a short hallway; a door slammed soon after, leaving Castiel sitting at the kitchen table with Dean’s parents, entrenched in an awkward silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, relatively weak chapter, and I apologize for that.  
> Having some difficulty getting this one to go where I needed it to go!


	6. Chapter 6

Sam and Dean were born only a few scant years apart and, being both born male and raised in the household of a former marine, they grew up to be the rough and tumble sort of boys everyone had expected. Like any siblings, they fought from time to time, often over stupid and inconsequential things; on occasion, it would even get physical.

The last time Sam and Dean were in any sort of physical altercation was the day that Sam first understood that Dean was serious about going to college, and realized that his older brother’s sights were set on Boston University, far and away from the Winchester family homestead.

“So that’s it?” Sam, a gangly teenager, still unused to his newly sprouted height, had demanded, watching his brother carefully depositing a check signed by their mother into his application envelope. The application fee for Boston was fifty dollars, and Dean had almost tossed out the idea on that alone, but his mother had swooped in with a smile before he had chance to throw away the application, scanning the fine print and reaching for her checkbook.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, not realizing the angry tone to his brother’s voice. “I mean, my teachers still have to send in their recommendation forms and all that, but my essay is done and everything is filled out and… what, Sam?” he went on, stopping when he realized his younger brother was glaring at him.

“You’re just gonna leave?” Sam demanded, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Just bail out and leave us, just like Dad did?”

John Winchester had returned to the family home nearly eight years prior, but the years of his absence still stung, at Dean especially. Invoking such a comparison was definitely fighting dirty.

“M’just going to school, Sam,” Dean said slowly, turning in his chair to face his younger brother. “Just like you’re gonna too, when you get old enough.”

Sam shook his head quickly, shaggy hair flying. “No I won’t!” he snapped. “I won’t go all on the other side of the country and leave Mom and Dad like this, not like you’re doing! I won’t leave my family behind, I’m not that selfish!”

It had taken Dean a long time to understand that he wasn’t in fact being selfish by going away to college. It had taken countless late nights staring at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on his bedroom ceiling, unable to sleep with the incessant guilt and doubt gnawing at his mind. It had taken dozens of early morning donut runs with his father. It had taken many late night pieces of pie with his mother. It had taken one weirdly brusque and yet all the same heartfelt conversation with Bobby, his father’s AA sponsor and family friend. But it had finally clicked in Dean’s head that it was okay for him to do this, that is was okay for him to want something for himself.

And then Sam had to go and throw that in his face.

It had taken their father to separate them; John Winchester was many years out of the service but he still had large hands and strong arms, and managed to pull apart his battling sons quickly after he found them brawling on the dining room floor. Both were panting, Dean bleeding from his nose and Sam with a slow trickle from the side of his mouth, where he had bitten down hard into his cheek after a well-timed blow to his stomach.

They hadn’t spoken, really, for weeks after, until two days before Dean was set to leave for Boston and Sam had finally broken down in tears and pulled his older brother into strong-armed embrace, begging him not to go. Dean squeezed the boy back just as tightly, fighting off his own tears at the thought of leaving him behind.

 

That had been years ago, and Dean found himself somewhat surprised at how large and difficult to maneuver his brother had grown in the time since, all the while dragging him to his father’s den and shoving him inside, slamming the door behind them. Sam stumbled a moment before righting himself, glaring at where Dean stood in front of him, looking more like a child playing dress up in his business suit than an adult.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean finally spat out. 

Sam didn’t answer right away, the two of them standing in their father’s den in an uneasy, angry silence. The room was their father’s respite from the doldrums of daily life, a place to hide away and watch bad action movies and fall asleep reading Clive Cussler novels. The very atmosphere was soaked in the aura of John Winchester, scented with a mixture of his aftershave, the faint odor of motor oil, and the rare cigar he smoked now and again.

“Me? Seriously, you’re asking me?” Sam finally spat out in response, shaking his head. “Dean, you’ve had Mom practically over the fucking moon for weeks, with ‘Cas this’ and ‘Cas that’ and ‘I wonder what she’ll be like’ and ‘this one is important or Dean wouldn’t bring her home’! I mean shit, she’s browsing knitting patterns online for baby blankets and booties!”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up at his brother’s words. “Seriously?” he squeaked, all of the fire taken out of him for a moment at the surprise, hand creeping to the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “I mean, shit, it’s a little early for that, right? We haven’t even talked about that kind of thing and…”

“Fucksake, Dean, do you even know what you’re doing here?” Sam said incredulously. “You got Mom all hyped for a new daughter-in-law-to-be coming by, and you show up with this… with this…!”

Dean’s voice dropped low and deadly. “Careful there, Sammy,” he advised, eyes gone dark with warning at the word he thought might pass his brother’s lips. “We may be blood but that don’t mean I won’t knock you on your ass.”

Sam barked out a laugh; this was madness. “For what? For this guy?” Sam said, shaking his head. “Christ, Dean, listen to yourself!”

Dean frowned, shaking his head, and his voice softened. “No, Sam. Listen to you,” he responded. “I mean, I expected this shit from Dad, maybe, or hell, even Mom, you know how fucked up Gramp Campbell was, wouldn’t shock me if he filled her head with a bunch of bullshit in the day… but you, Sam? That one’s coming out of left field.”

For a moment, Sam looked aghast. As though he were truly horrified by his own behavior. But it was just for a moment, and he quickly shook it off, a frown of disbelief growing on his face.

“No. No,” he responded, shaking his head. “I don’t buy it. Dean Winchester is all about chicks. You think I wouldn’t know this shit? You love beer, and Batman, and your car, and frisky women. That’s you, in a nutshell.”

Dean snorted. “That was me,” he agreed, nodding. “Ten, maybe fifteen years ago? And yeah, I love my car, and beer, and hell, if I was on my own, m’sure I’d still love a frisky woman…. Jo Harvelle at work, I mean, jesus, definitely my type… when I was in undergrad. Cos now I love beer but I’m starting to love ice wine and gin. And I love dystopian literature and surrealist poetry and, shit, I’m even starting to love the Antiques Roadshow that Cas makes me DVR for him cos I fucking love Cas, Sam, I love the guy, and that’s not going to change cos my little brother is a closet-fucking-bigot.”

Sam’s face crumpled, and for a moment, Dean thought he might cry. Instead, the younger man just shook his head.

“No,” he protested, voice raising half an octave in something akin to desperation. “No, Dean, you’re my brother, I’d know… I’d know if you… I mean, man, you know me, you know everything about me. You know the real reason me and Jess split, you’re… you’re the only one who even knows about Ruby and that whole mess, Dean, you’re my brother, I’d know if you were gay!”

Suddenly, it all made sense to Dean, why Sam had been acting so uncharacteristically close-minded and rude. He wasn’t upset that Dean had brought a man home; he was upset that such a huge part of his brother’s life had completely escaped his notice. For his part, Dean was glad of it; it was about time that Sam started realizing everything he was missing lately.

Dean shrugged. “Bi, actually, but whatever,” he replied coolly. “You’re right, Sam, I do know all that stuff about you, but the truth is, you know shit about me, or my life. We were close as kids and hell, for years after, but since you went away to Stanford? You came back with your nose in the air and a chip on your shoulder and you don’t bother to keep up with your family.”

“What? That’s not true!” Sam protested quickly, surprised at his brother’s words. “I’m here every Sunday, same as you!”

“Sure, half asleep on the couch most of the time,” Dean responded. “And do you even call Ma during the week? At all? Or talk to Dad at all about anything for whatever game is on, when you’re passed out on the couch? No, you don’t. All you even talk about is work and I get that it’s important to you, but, Christ, Sam, you gotta make time for the rest of us. And me and Cas? We’re a package deal here.”

Dean turned and headed towards the door, leaving Sam to gape after him. He paused a second before leaving, glancing back at his younger brother.

“You wanna pull your head out of your ass and come finish dinner?”


	7. Chapter 7

Sam sank into his father’s rickety old armchair after his brother stepped out of the den, closing the door behind him as he went. He supposed he really did have a lot to think about. Looking back on the past few hours, even he was surprised at his reactions. He’d never been anything near homophobic, never thought he’d raise hackles at the thought of his brother being with another man.

Though, he supposed, the thought had never occurred to him that Dean would want that.

It never occurred to him that Dean would think so poorly of him, either.

 

For the most part, it didn’t seem to Sam himself that he had changed all that much. He was still the same guy he was in high school, the same guy he was at Stanford. Just a little taller, a little leaner, a little busier with his career. It wasn’t easy, working for Milton & Milton; if he ever wanted to be made even a junior partner, Sam had to put in the long hours, work hard, and do his best to emulate his bosses, brothers Michael and Luke Milton. The two were known perfectionists, only hand-picking the best and brightest graduates to intern at their firm, fewer still ever being offered a job.

_The best and the brightest._

It struck a chord with Sam, that phrase, bringing back a memory he’d much rather forget. It was well into his second year of undergraduate work at Stanford, and Sam had been roped into a winter break ski trip with a few friends from school. He had intended to go home for break – he really had – but Brady had a way with words, a certain flair for persuasion that often made Sam wonder why his friend was pre-med rather than pre-law.

Brady came from money; he may have had the grades to get into Stanford, but he also had the family funds to back it up. They owned an actual ski chalet in Aspen, and when Brady invited a handful of his school friends to join him there over the winter holiday, Sam could hardly refuse. 

Late one night, Sam found himself sprawled on an astoundingly comfortable brown leather couch with the pretty blonde, Jessica, that he had just started dating, curled up against his side, watching a log crackling in the fireplace with snow falling gently outside the floor length windows. It was like something out of a holiday special. Jessica sighed softly and Sam noticed that she was asleep, reaching back to pull a thick flannel blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch down to cover her. 

Brady sat across from them in a leather armchair, holding a glass of scotch that was older than anyone in the room. His lips curled into a smile.

“She’s a keeper, Winchester,” he declared, speaking in his usual cavalier tone but low enough not to wake the sleeping girl.

Sam smiled down at Jessica, pushing a few locks of her wavy hair out of her face. She sighed again and her eyelashes fluttered for just a moment, but her eyes never opened.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam agreed softly.

“She’s perfect for you,” Brady said, nodding as his eyes followed the slope of the sleeping girl’s body. “She’s just… perfect.” He smiled a little, flicking his gaze back to Sam, and chuckled softly. “But we all are, aren’t we? The best and the brightest, the best our families could offer… the best class to come out of Stanford in a decade or so, at least.”

Sam snorted. “That’s a little much, don’t you think? Even for you, man.” 

“Nah… think about it,” Brady replied. He set his drink down on a side table, leaning forward in his chair. “Your old man, some jarhead, right? Mom was a cop? And look at you now, Sammy-boy. Heading to Stanford Law, going to end up in a top firm like Sidley Austin or Milton & Milton or Squire Sanders. That’s something, man. Best your family could come up with, right?”

Jessica shifted sleepily against Sam, moving closer and pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Isn’t your brother like a phd candidate or something, Sam?” she asked through a yawn, apparently not as asleep as the others had thought.

“Yeah, Dean is getting his doctorate,” he pointed out, then paused, wondering if literature would really add up against something like law, with practical use, perhaps even a future in politics. “Well,” he added. “It’s in the humanities, anyway.”

“See? Exactly!” Brady said, snapping his fingers. “You’re going to be working the system, my friend, the actual bones and arteries of the country, the laws that keep it running. That’s a hell of a lot more important than some dusty books, am I right? Jess right alongside you.”

Jessica opened her eyes just enough to roll them. “And you, Brady? Real bones and arteries for you?”

He snorted. “The real future is in pharmaceuticals, baby. Pfizer, Niveus… keeping people alive, taking medicine to the forefront of science. That’s where I’ll be. Unlike my asshole father, who lived off his trust fund, and my idiot whore of a sister doing the same. Just you wait and see.”

 

Just remembering that day made Sam sick to his stomach with shame and grief and a myriad of other emotions he tried to ignore. He had liked Brady, liked his brashness and his absolute surety of his own worth. Wanted to emulate it, wanted to learn to carry himself in the same self-assured manner. Sam had known Dean had worked hard towards his degrees, that his brother was brilliant even though Dean would never admit it to himself, and yet he had just as quickly thrown him under the bus, shooting down the accomplishments he should have made him so proud. Brady gave Sam a taste of a life that he started to crave.

He had worked hard, of course, and earned what he accomplished, but at what cost? He’d gotten his internship and eventual employment with Milton & Milton, worked with Luke Milton almost daily and saw in him that same confident spark he’d seen in Brady, something he wanted to attain for himself. Funny, how he had never saw himself as a high-powered attorney in the huge glass castle of an office building where he worked, always thinking he’d go to work for his Uncle Bobby at the small firm the man had founded after many years as a police detective, doing mostly pro bono work. Things had changed. That night in Aspen, Sam’s path in life had set an entirely different course – and Jess’ had, too. 

 

Sam had carried with him an idea of what life would be like after graduating, an idea that had blossomed the day he met Jessica Moore. He saw a return to his hometown, a little yellow house stuffed full of kids, the white picket fence, the whole deal. He saw Jessica at his side, all soft smiles and long waves of blonde hair framing her face. He saw quiet Sunday mornings with coffee and the New York Times crossword, dinners with his family in the evenings and returning home to fall asleep tangled in one another.

He never saw the coldly sterile modern apartment with floor to ceiling plate glass windows, looking out over a city skyline that never quite felt like home. He never saw Jess – or, rather, Jessica now, more professional that way – with a short straight bob and a charcoal business suit, no time for morning coffee because she had to be in early for trial prep and would be home late after drinks with Michael Milton and a client.

Sam never saw himself clipping his hair short – more professional that way, Luke had assured him – and donning a suit that probably cost more than the car he had driven to Stanford. He never saw himself blowing off three Sunday dinners in a row, citing a heavy workload and a need to stay close to the city, just until this contract is put to bed. He never saw himself flirting – harmlessly, he insisted, even to himself – with the assistant Luke had insisted on hiring for him, a darkly doe-eyed beauty of a brunette with a permanent smirk, who had not so subtly brushed her hand across his ass on more than one occasion.

He never saw himself sleeping on the couch in his office, too tired to go home after a late night, knowing he had to be in early the next morning.

He never saw himself coming home late that following night, and finding his wife wrapped up in the arms of a familiar man who had sent him an email just that morning, _Winchester, I’m in town with the Niveus team on the flu vacc lawsuit, let’s have a drink_.

Jessica had been drunk, that much was obvious, and Brady stone cold sober, the bastard still laughing when Sam bloodied his nose with a well-placed fist.

“Everyone knows you’re fucking that Ruby bitch in your office, Winchester,” Brady had spat out, alongside a mouthful of blood. “Somebody has to be keepin’ Jess warm if you’re not gonna do it.”

Sam had reeled on his wife, shocked eyes taking in her disheveled clothing and smeared lipstick, as well as the drunken glaze and accusatory glare in her eyes.  
“It’s all over the office, Sam,” she responded. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

His jaw dropped. “How… how can you think I’d do that, Jess, you’re… you’re everything to me!”

Just like that, she broke down and started to cry, and Brady slunk out the door, still chuckling under his breath as he went. In two days’ time, Jess was gone, as were all of her things from their apartment, and three days after that, Sam was served with divorce papers at the office.

He had begged her to come back, saying they could work things out, that he could forgive her everything, but she refused. “I don’t like who I am anymore, Sam,” she replied. “I need to go. I need to go home and forget all of this.”

 

Jessica was gone, and then there was Ruby, who had just been waiting to climb into her boss’s bed, and no one at the office seemed to notice or really care, except for Luke, who had sent Sam a knowing smirk and commented that he knew Sam “would like that little treat I sent your way”. So there was Ruby, lots of drinking, lots of work, lots of sex, and Dean had been the one to find Sam passed out on his kitchen floor and taken him to the hospital to find his little brother suffering from acute cocaine intoxication and nearly dead with hypothermia. If anyone asked afterwards, the ten weeks Sam spent in southern California were on case research, definitely not a seventy day inpatient rehab program. When his hair started to grow out again, he’d left it.

That had been the last of Ruby; she had left him there to die, after all. But Sam soldiered on, never talked about what had happened, and just worked and worked and worked.

He was trying, he really was. Trying to find a path to follow again, something to distract from the bitter loneliness and crushing disappointment of a life that wasn’t all the brochure had promised. 

Maybe that meant leaving family by the wayside, for now.

Or maybe that was part of the problem itself.

 

Sam stripped off the suit coat he had arrived in that afternoon – straight from the office, of course – and tossed it over the back of his father’s cigar-scented recliner, quickly adding his grey silk tie to the pile. It was a Sunday dinner at his parents’ house, after all; his mother wore a casual blouse and khaki shorts, his father a pair of golf shorts and a Marine Corps t-shirt, and even Dean had arrived in jeans and a t-shirt; Dean’s friend had arrived dressed in a similarly casual manner. Sam suddenly felt ridiculous.

He untucked his white dress shirt, rolled up the sleeves and undid the uppermost button before taking a deep breath and opening the den door. If he wanted to fix things – not just with his brother, but everything – this was as good a place to start as any.

When he entered the kitchen, he thought for a moment his father was choking. John Winchester’s face was red and he leaned half over the table, palm slapping down on the tabletop. After a second, Sam realized what was happening; his father was laughing, harder than Sam had ever seen. His mother looked on smiling, though seemingly a bit puzzled, and Dean was chuckling softly and gazing with a very fond expression at his dinner date across the table.

“It’s funnier in Enochian,” Cas offered Mary with a shrug, earning another chuckle from Dean.

“Uh, hey,” Sam called into the room, feeling cast in a spotlight as every face in the room turned towards him.

“Hello Sam,” Mary, ever the peacemaker, called mildly.

Clearing his throat, Sam stepped towards where Cas was sitting and offered his hand.  
“Hey, Cas,” he said. “I never… never really introduced myself properly. I’m Sam. It’s nice to meet you.”

Cas glanced to Dean before slowly extending his hand to shake Sam’s, smiling as Sam took a seat at the table next to him.  
“It’s nice to meet you too, Sam,” he replied. “Dean has told me much about you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Mary Winchester would not allow either of her sons to leave without taking with a hefty helping of leftovers, though both had put away enough at dinner to keep them happy and fed for at least a few days. It was just her way, to make much more than was needed so that she could ensure that her boys were eating well on the days she didn’t see them. Their goodbyes at the door were a flurry of tin foil and plastic covered bowls and trays, with Castiel thanking both elder Winchesters profusely as he carried out the rest of the pie that Dean had insisted on bringing home.

“Now, Cas, you’ll be here next week, won’t you?” Mary asked, smiling as she leaned to press a quick peck to his cheek, holding him steady with a hand on his arms, full of food as they were.

“Oh, of course,” he said quickly, coloring just slightly. “That is, if you’d like me to come, I mean, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Mary laughed. “Don’t be silly,” she gently admonished. “Sundays are family dinners, and you’re family. Of course you have to come.”

Dean breezed out the back door, a half-full container of vanilla ice cream stuffed into q plastic sack from the grocery store swinging from his arms.

“Jesus, I’m stuffed,” he groaned. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he tossed the keys to the Impala to Castiel, who managed to catch them atop a Tupperware container full of leftover salad he planned to bring as his lunch the next day. “You drive, Cas. Feel like I won’t even fit behind the wheel.”

John, who was standing beside Mary, did his best to hide his surprise, but there was no way to stop his eyebrows from shooting up to his hairline.

“Well shit, welcome to the family, Cas!” he said, a loud laugh shaking his shoulders once the surprise had died off. Dean hadn’t even let John himself behind the wheel of his car since the title had gone into the younger Winchester’s name; if Castiel was going to drive – and by the casual way Dean had said it, it seemed as though it wasn’t the first time – he knew damn well that his son was serious about the other man.

Dean ignored his father’s outburst, moving instead to lighten some of Castiel’s burden.  
“Christ, Ma, this is enough food to last us until Halloween!”

Mary swatted at her elder son’s backside.  
“Hush yourself, Pie,” she said, giving his shoulder a soft shove. “If I leave it to you, you’ll just be making yourself spaghetti all the time since it’s the easiest you know how to make. I just want to know my boys are eating well – all three of them.”

If Castiel sniffed a little upon hearing that, he did his best to pretend it was just late season allergies. If his face turned pink and his eyes watered, he would insist it was just the effect of the sun and hay fever. That soft warm feeling in his chest, well… that he wouldn’t even bother to pretend was heartburn; Mary was too good of a cook to warrant it.

“Aw, jeez, Ma,” Dean said, voice thick with emotion, throwing an arm around his mother’s shoulders and planting a kiss atop her head.

Knowing it would be hard for her boys to say anything further on the topic, she just gave them both a swat with the dish towel she had slung over her shoulder.

“Go on now, head on home. Too much excitement in this house for Abbey to keep up with, and I will not be running that animal in and out all night because you’ve got her all riled up!” she said, dutifully ignoring the fat beagle’s snores filtering out from the screen door.

 

Sam was waiting at the trunk of the Impala, hands pushed deep into the pocket of his dress slacks. More casually dressed now, out of his suit coat and tie, hair hanging in his face, he looked more like the gargantuan little brother that Dean remembered, the other brother held out no hope that the sudden change would take hold.

“Uh, hey,” Sam said, clearly uncomfortable, as they approached. Dinner had gone well enough after Sam’s return, the tension drifting out of the room and feeling a little bit more like the family dinners that Dean remembered from his youth, but it was still a fresh wound, barely stitched shut. Too much pressure and it still might burst.

“Hey,” Dean replied gruffly. He used his free hand to unlock the trunk, still balancing his treats left over from dinner in his other hand. “You not taking any food?”

“It’s already in my car,” Sam replied, earning a low chuckle from his brother.

“It was nice meeting you, Sam,” Castiel piped up, leaning to lay out the tray of chicken and Tupperware containers he carried. 

“Yeah, you too, Cas,” Sam said quickly, and offered his hand to Castiel to shake once the other man had straightened. 

Dean didn’t say anything during the exchange, more concentrated on arranging food containers and making sure they were secure enough not to spill their contents all over his baby’s trunk during the drive home. When he stood, he regarded Sam for a long quiet moment before speaking again.

“So me and Cas, we got hit up at work by one of the TAs,” he began, looking anywhere but at his brother’s face as he spoke. “She was raising money for some club to take a trip to that comic thing in California and they were selling these frozen pizzas. We got like, ten of’em in the freezer, right Cas?”

Castiel nodded with a small laugh. “Dean did have some trouble refusing Charlie,” he explained. “Particularly so after she promised to play Scully to his Mulder at Wizard World this year.”

Sam snorted out a laugh and Dean elbowed Castiel. “Stow it, Krycek,” he warned, and Castiel just smile. “Anyway,” Dean went on, turning back to Sam, “Why don’t you swing by on Friday? We’ll throw some pizzas in the oven, crack open a few beers, watch our new Die Hard box set.”

Eyes widened in surprise, Sam quickly nodded, recognizing Dean’s offer immediately for what it was. It wasn’t meant to be just an excuse to clear out the freezer; it was an offer to get to know his brother again, and to get to know the man he loved.

Sam was getting a second chance.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds great!” he said quickly, tone an octave too high, stressed with the gratitude that came in accepting his brother’s offer – and his brother’s forgiveness. He was going to have to earn the latter.

Surprising him one more time in a day full of unexpected happenings, Sam found himself enveloped in a tight hug from his older brother.

“We can fix this, Sammy,” Dean said, voice gone rough with emotion. “We can fix this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will finish it, I think! Thanks for sticking with it :)


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel’s hand were gently tapping out the rhythm of the song playing on the radio on the steering wheel as they stopped at a light just before the on-ramp to the highway that led home. He glanced over to the passenger seat, a faint smile coming to his lips at the way Dean sprawled there, arm bracing his head against the window, settled back into the seat as though it were a throne. Catching his glance, Dean gave a small, puzzled smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked, glancing up as the light changed the Castiel pressed down on the accelerator, moving them into the turn that would take them home.

Cas gave a small smile in return before moving his eyes back to the road.  
“Tonight was nice,” he said. “I’m glad you invited me along.”

Dean’s plush lips pulled into a grin.  
“C’mon, man. Of course I did. Family dinner, right? Just like Ma said,” he responded. He loved this, the quiet moments between them when he didn’t have to think about what others thought, what others might see. When Dean could just be Dean; Cas gave him that freedom. No one else ever had.

Because all the things that Dean had never told his family, all of his secrets, they weren’t just his anymore. Cas knew them, knew about them all, and for the first time in his life, Dean knew he didn’t have to be the strong one, the one to take care of everyone all of the time.

Dean could break, and he would have Castiel to catch him. Sharing all of that with his family had been hard, but the end result was worth it. 

“I didn’t realize things with Sam were as bad as they had gotten,” Cas spoke up gently, drawing Dean out from his own thoughts. Eyes still on the road, he sighed. “I guess I should have. As much as you talked about him, I would think we’d have met before tonight, if everything was going well.”

Dean sighed, happiness leaching from his mind for a moment.  
“I should have said,” he replied. “I don’t think I wanted to really deal with it. But, hey, ya know what? Before he left, he got Bobby’s number from my dad. Not his home number, his work number. So that’s a good sign, right?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Bobby with the law firm? Your dad’s sponsor?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, nodding. “Maybe he’s thinking about cutting out some time at that place he’s working at, picking up some charity cases, or… shit. Son of a bitch. Do you think maybe he relapsed?”

Dean straightened in his seat and pawed at his pockets to retrieve his phone, paging through his contacts to find his brother’s number. It had been so long since they were on a call-a-day basis that he didn’t know the number offhand, and it was buried alphabetically in his contact list.

“Shit. I knew I should have kept up on him, I knew he might not be able to kick it the first time…!” he panicked aloud. He didn’t even notice Castiel pulling the car over and taking the phone from his hand. “Cas, what…?” he started, green eyes wide with the raw fear and automatic protective mode that Castiel saw crop up whenever something threatened the people Dean cared about.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly, dropping the other man’s phone into his own pocket. “He’s fine. It’s fine. Sam didn’t seem as though he was taking anything, did he? He looked healthy, ate fine, right?”

“Yeah, but Cas,” Dean started, reaching out for the phone.

Castiel closed his own hand over Dean’s, twining their fingers together and squeezing them tightly against his palm.  
“It’s not on you to save the world, Dean. Or Sam.”

Dean sighed. They’d had this conversation before. “I know, Cas, but…”

“Sam is fine, Dean. He’s fine. And we’re going to see him in just a couple days, and you’ll see that for yourself,” Castiel intoned, voice taking on a commanding tone. “Let’s go home.”

 

Dean took a deep steadying breath. He felt lighter, felt the panic slipping away. Cas was right – he almost always was. Sam was a grown man and it wasn’t up to Dean to ensure his safety and success, not anymore. Once upon a time, a young Dean Winchester had taken it upon himself to patrol the upstairs hallways of his family home with a baseball bat late into the night, after his father had left. Someone had to keep his mother and Sammy safe.

But Dean knew now that it wasn’t him. Sam would find his way. Maybe, he already was.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, hand still clasped in Castiel’s even as the other man restarted the car and pulled back out onto the highway. The flickers of passing headlights flashed across them as they went, flickers of flame sparking behind Dean’s closed eyes as they went. Castiel had turned down the radio but still hummed along to the soft sound of a Stones ballad as it played, and Dean smile to himself; when they’d met, Castiel had hated his music, but it grew on him, just as Dean had.

Opening his eyes and smiling slyly, Dean unlinked their fingers and moved his palm to rest on Castiel’s thigh, casually at first and then inching just higher as they drove.

“Knock it off, Winchester,” Castiel warned.

Dean laughed. “Hey, its still early,” Dean protested. “We should go out somewhere, celebrate.”

“We both have classes tomorrow, Dean,” Castiel responded, shaking his head. “And we need to get all this food your mother sent home and in the fridge, before that ice cream you snuck out of the freezer melts all over the trunk.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah yeah, I guess you’re right,” he grumbled. They made another few miles in quiet, only the sounds of traffic and the blathering of radio commercials breaking the silence, when Dean spotted a sign they had passed dozens of times and even talked about now and again. It was easily three feet tall and eight feet wide, perched atop a high signboard that looked as though it once carried the logo of a fast food restaurant. The building beneath it was brightly lit, beckoning out into the night.

“Hey, Cas, pull into this lot,” Dean said suddenly, sitting up straighter. Castiel gave him a curious glance, but did as he asked, parking the Impala right beneath the huge sign that read ‘TATTOOS’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please never never never NEVER pull off the road and get inked at a random tattoo parlor.  
> We're in the information age. You can research the shops and artists you want to visit. There is no guarantee you will not get an injury, illness, or even sloppy ink job if you just walk in off the street.  
> And from personal experience, never never never NEVER let the apprentice tat you.
> 
> Dean and Cas are just drunk on each other and too silly to know better at the close of this fic.
> 
> Also, thank you for sticking with me, loves! There will be more in the Pepperverse before I am through :)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://literatec.tumblr.com), if you wish.
> 
> Please do not add this, or any of my posted works, to Goodreads. Thank you.


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